


Damaged

by amildgroove



Category: The Eagle (2011) RPF, The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Marcus, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gaelic Language, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Introspection, Latin, Love Confessions, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Shame, Top!Esca, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amildgroove/pseuds/amildgroove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been one year since the battle with the Seal Tribe, and Marcus is battling with a hidden shame that threatens to destroy himself and his relationship with Esca.  The damage has been done, and the Seal Prince has left his mark upon Marcus' body.  It is up to Esca to mend the Centurion's broken trust and reclaim what rightfully belongs to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for the lovely Resplendent Decadence for Christmas, and I felt like sharing it with all of you! Enjoy!

Marcus stood against the doorframe waving goodbye to the cook as he shuffled down the dirt pathway that led away from the house.  The sun was making its descent and casting a shadow off the old man that flitted across the tall grassy hill their home sat upon.

_Our home…_

The Roman’s gaze shifted to his housemate, his friend; a man he had once called slave and then, seemingly in the same day, vowed to die for in battle.

He should call out to him; let him know their evening meal was ready.  But the Briton was working with the couple of horses they had purchased last week, and the Centurion could not tear his eyes away from him.

Esca found a way to look stunning in his every movement.  When he was hunting or riding a horse, to cleaning or plowing their garden, or just walking across a room.  Marcus found himself entranced time and time again when the Briton was near. But now…the Roman’s superiors would be ashamed of him if they saw how he stared—how he _gaped_ —slack-jawed at the half-naked man he had once called Slave.

The Briton was bare from the waist up; the sinews of his back and shoulders rippled as he commanded the horses across the fields to a holding pen they had built days before.  Marcus’ mouth began to moisten with saliva that nearly fell from his lips at the whims of gravity when the Centurion shook from his reverie, his mouth shutting with an audible click and his spine straightening against the doorframe.  _He_ was ashamed of himself.

Never in his life had Marcus lusted after another with such fervor as he did with Esca.  Romans were warriors; probably the most arousing quality of man was his performance in battle.  Esca had _fought_ with him, side by side, in a battlefield that nearly took both their lives.  Marcus could not deny the pleasure he felt in seeing a man he had begun to care for fight with such valor and honor.

And during their pursuit of the Eagle when his Slave had tackled him off his horse in a fit of rage…Marcus would have sported _that_ erection for a week had it not been for the Seal Tribe Prin—

The Roman swallowed a gasp, his memories flitting across his mind like wild stag across the plains.  His heart fell to his gut and his bad leg nearly buckled beneath him.  Marcus sealed his vision from the sight of his friend, not wanting to associate his past shame and horror with his friend for another moment.

There were few moments of shame in his life, that much he  
could say with pride; the Roman had been a perfect soldier, _better_ even, in that everything he did had been done with honor.

It seemed the actions that were distinctly beyond his control were the ones riddled with the most shame; his father commanding the Legion of the Ninth beyond Hadrian’s Wall, condemning his men to death and forsaking their precious standard.  Marcus never truly believed his father had shamed himself, but it would have been a fool’s errand to convince the rest of Rome to align with his feelings; he bore the name Aquila, therefore he bore the shame of Rome.  Despite retrieving the Eagle and restoring Rome’s honor with that of his family’s, the name Aquila was to be forever associated with a dark moment in Rome’s history.  Marcus could not and probably would not ever be able to walk away from the shame others cast at him. 

Marcus blinked, his vision of Esca blurring for a moment.  Retrieving the Eagle had been his best effort to restore his family’s honor, to clear their name.  He had done this, in a sense, but what it had cost the Roman was a shame so enormous in its magnitude that he cringed when he was called by his title: Centurion.  He no longer felt he deserved that title; the Seal Tribe Prince had effectively taken that away from—

The Roman’s eyes slammed shut, the breath he had been holding escaping in a pained hiss as he visibly struggled to fight off the memories of his greatest failure.  Marcus felt the all too familiar weight of such black marks upon his past that, he feared, he would never forgive himself for.

“Esca!” the Centurion barked his friend’s name suddenly, his tone reminiscent of when he would address his troops, his eyes flashing to where Esca was walking the horses within the pen.  Even from such a great distance Marcus saw the Briton jump, startled, and felt guilty for his harsh tone.  Esca turned toward the house, a queer expression on his face as he quirked a brow at his housemate as if to say, _What the hell was that for?_

Marcus made the effort to soften his appearance and jerked his head toward the interior of the house, “Supper,” he said, his tone much gentler now that it had gotten off its high horse.  His friend nodded slowly at him, as if wondering how hungry the Roman truly was that he would bellow so obnoxiously for a meal.  His cheeks coloring in embarrassment, the still-injured man hobbled into their home and made his way for the kitchen.

It was difficult for Marcus to ignore how every surface of his home, of _their_ home, spoke of the Roman and the Briton together as a unified existence in a single space.  Their meager possessions that each could claim to own blended together so effortlessly throughout every room—it was as if their belongings tried to speak as relics to their homelands; Roman and Briton apart, but were speaking the same language together. 

_Perhaps there is nothing more than a name separating what we call ourselves_.

The pair living together, their… _union_ as evident by the house, confounded Marcus.  Every surface of his home held a memory that brought a flush of color to his cheeks; it were as if the Roman could not walk within his own home without being suspected of having a fever.  The kitchen, parlor, wash room…the vegetable garden.  Everywhere in his home Marcus could remember so distinctly, as if it was happening again before his very eyes, how…how _animalistic_ Roman and Briton were with each other.  Esca seemed to carry on living in their home unabashed, as if the frequency and spread-eagle nature of their sexual proclivities was nothing shameful to him. 

Marcus glanced purposely at the open door of _their_ bed chamber, knowing what the onslaught of memories in that particular room would reduce him to; already the Centurion could feel his member stiffening, making the act of walking even more difficult than it already was.

Esca had been…and still was…a very forward lover.  It was _he_ who initiated their intimacies, despite Marcus being sure that it was he who had harbored lustful feelings the longest.  The Briton may have resented being thought of as a savage from an even more savage nation, but he certainly behaved as one in the bed chamber…or in the fields.  Never in his _life_ had Marcus ever felt such a complete sense of satisfaction with a partner.  For many weeks the Roman was certain that the gods were envious of him and the pleasure he felt.

Marcus slowly eased his body into a chair at the table, his nose scrunching the only indication that seating himself _gently_ still required more effort.  He sighed and continued to fret over something that had troubled him from the moment they had been intimate with one another.

There was little doubt in Marcus’ mind that his feelings toward Esca were anything less than love.  He loved the other man deeply, and although it was not a sentiment that frequently, if ever, had voice, the pair preferred visual demonstration of their feelings rather than audible.  Yet it was the knowledge that both shared a deep bond of love with one another that made Marcus feel overwhelmed with guilt.

Marcus was not well practiced with the other aspect of romance that did not involve sequestering himself with another in a bedroom.  The only companionship he had been familiar with was camaraderie, _close_ camaraderie; the one or two other warriors that he would kill legions and die for.  Esca was something different to the Roman.  Marcus would, without hesitation, die for the other man, but more than that he wanted to _live_ for him; see Esca at his best and happiest and know that it was because of _him_.

But Marcus knew that, as a lover, he had started it all _wrong_.

Love had only _one_ essential component; a component that Marcus _was_ practiced with as a solider and a commander.

Trust.

Marcus had failed to trust Esca with his entire self.  He trusted Esca as a friend, as a lover, as a soldier; there was little Marcus could not depend upon Esca for.

Except…his shame.

Marcus did not know how to trust another with his _own_ shame.  He had no family aside from his uncle, and the shame Marcus had borne was a public one that forced him to shun others from his personal life lest they try to pry into his mind and examine the mechanisms he used to cope with such… _communal_ shame.

Then…Marcus swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, his eyes closing as a single tear fled down his cheek.  What the Seal Tribe Prince had done to him, what that wicked, evil man had made him _feel_ was the worst shame Marcus could ever imagine.  A Roman soldier had to possess the strength to have complete control over himself to better enable him to perform his orders to the letter.  To be a Roman commander was to have _complete_ control, to enable him to better control _everything_. Marcus had failed as a commander; his strength and endurance had failed him when he had needed it the most. 

The Seal Tribe Prince had shown the Roman that _desire_ , something Marcus had always thought to have the most sensual and beautiful connotations, could be the darkest, most macabre act capable of destroying a man.  Marcus had been shown that desire was beyond all control, and that it was in fact the perfect device for manipulation.  The one person Marcus would have _never_ held desire for—his captor, his abuser, one of the evil _savages_ that had decimated his father’s legion—had taken Marcus into _his_ mouth and took the desire and the want from him.

The Roman choked on a sob, his eyes opening wide in an effort to compose himself before his friend appeared through the door.  It had been over a year since Esca and Marcus had battled the Seal Tribe, a year since Marcus had been their prisoner; and yet all the time in the world would never be enough for Marcus to stop hating himself.  How could he forgive himself when he had found release from someone he neither desired nor wanted living?

Marcus had known, from the moment Esca and he had become intimate, that sharing his shame with his lover would have been bearable, _helpful_ even, if he was not harboring such immense doubt against the Briton.  During his capture in the Seal Tribe, Esca had been playing his role perfectly, even unbeknownst to Marcus or the Seal People.  And yet three days before Esca had revealed himself to Marcus, showed that his loyalty had never wavered against the Roman, the Seal Tribe Prince had sucked Marcus off as a means to humiliate him.  It was dishonorable, no matter if you were Briton or Roman, to receive pleasure you did not want; to have someone take advantage of you, against your will, and yet still find release from it.

From the moment it had happened, Marcus had been suspicious of Esca’s involvement.  He had known about every other time when the prince, or another tribesman, would beat him…would he not also know about the prince taking advantage of him?  It was painful for Marcus to think that Esca had known all along, that he _still_ knew; yet the Briton had never once mentioned Marcus’ time as a slave to him, nor what the Roman had been subjected to.  Marcus wasn’t sure he could confide in his lover, could handle the agony his heart would endure if he discovered that Esca had been responsible for his greatest shame.

Marcus’ gaze lifted when his friend quietly came through the front door, their eyes meeting as Esca continued to shoot him a queer look, obviously still pondering the Roman’s strange behavior.  Marcus offered him a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how forced it was.  The Briton crossed the room to the wash basin, his concerned expression giving way to an affectionate smirk as he began to focus his attentions on cleaning himself before their meal.  Marcus swallowed; he had begun to salivate again when his gaze darted to the rippling sinews of the Briton’s bare back as he cleaned himself.  The Centurion grimaced, his eyes closing to block the visage of his beautiful friend.  Despite Marcus’ difficulty in trusting Esca fully, thereby _loving_ him fully, he could never deny the attraction he felt toward the Briton; an attraction he felt could break him apart and expose the pieces of himself he so desperately wished to hide.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It took more effort than Marcus was willing to admit to ignore how Esca stared at him while the pair cleaned the dishes from their supper.  Marcus was washing, and doing a fantastic job as a terrible washer, and Esca was drying the dishes, occasionally rubbing the drying cloth a little harder than usual to remove a stain Marcus had missed. 

Supper had been a silent affair, the direction of Marcus’ thoughts occupying him so much that he barely lifted his gaze from his plate.  Esca was being tremendously patient with him, and Marcus thought to thank the Briton later for leaving him with his thoughts.  While Esca was never shy to start a conversation, he never pried into Marcus’ troubles without invitation.  If Marcus was troubled by something, Esca was only ever involved if the Roman deliberately went to him.  Marcus was grateful for this, but it made going to Esca about a problem that he may well have been responsible for all the more difficult.  If Esca knew about and was responsible for the Seal Tribe Prince violating him, Marcus wanted nothing more than to forgive him.  He loved Esca, and he _could_ forgive him. 

It was his damn Roman pride that prevented him from even opening his mouth about the matter.  If Esca knew, or if he did not, Marcus was still left with the unbearable task of exposing his greatest shame to a man capable of destroying him with a few words.  Marcus loved and hated how vulnerable Esca made him.  His vulnerability to Esca was a gift when the Briton showed him how cherished he was; that, yes, he could not go on without Marcus either.  Yet, because Marcus knew he had yet to completely trust Esca, there was always a lingering fear that one day the Briton could destroy him.

A loud sigh vented from his nostrils as Marcus tried to shake himself from his thoughts.  He tried to ignore the raised brow directed at him from the Briton at his side; he was determined to salvage what was left of their evening and _enjoy_ himself.

Marcus turned to grab the last dish left on the counter and realized, too late, that his left leg was not turning with him.  Before he could straighten his body, a very loud, very painful, very obvious—pop!—was heard from his left knee.  The knee itself was not what had been injured; it was merely popping because he turned too far and did not take the rest of his leg with him.  However, the damaged tendons and ligaments next to the knee were extremely aggravated by the large pop and protested immediately.

Marcus roared in pain, his leg immediately buckling under his weight.  His eyes opened in time to see the floor rising quickly to meet his face.  _Shit._

A pair of strong arms shot out and grabbed him, wrapping around his torso from behind and stopping his descent before he met the floor.  A warm body came closer to him, as Esca steadied himself to bear most of Marcus’ weight.  The Roman’s hands clutched the Briton’s arms as he breathed a sigh of relief.  It amazed Marcus that Esca was able to reserve vast amounts of strength somewhere in his lean body.  The Roman was almost double his size and bulk, and yet his friend could—and still did on occasions such as this—manage his weight.

Esca quickly hauled Marcus to an upright position and the Roman’s head fell back against his shoulder.  The Briton sighed, touching his temple gently to the Roman’s, “Do you enjoy falling at my feet, Centurion?” he purred lightly in his ear.  Marcus swallowed, the tendrils of pleasure beginning to coil in his abdomen once more.

“Immensely,” was all Marcus could manage with a slight chuckle before hissing in pain as his laughter jostled his leg, further aggravating his injury.

Esca snorted, maneuvering to his lover’s left side so he could support the man’s weight as he guided him to a chair before the open fire.  Marcus sighed as he sank into the cushioned chair, his body starting to relax as the pain from his leg began to ebb.  He heard Esca kneel next to him, his hand resting lightly on Marcus’ uninjured leg.

“Do you need anything for it?” he asked gently, and Marcus felt his heart swell at the tender look Esca gave him, as if he would march all over the known world if it would ease his pain. 

He nodded, “It is just you that I need.  The pain is fading.”

Esca offered him a grin that made his stomach lurch, “I’m not going anywhere, _Roman_.”

Marcus had to stifle a groan when the Briton growled the title at him.  He was sure Esca could see the want, plain as day, in his eyes as they dilated, the lids drooping heavily.  Esca leaned forward between his knees, careful not to jostle his sore leg.  His arms gripped the chair on either side of Marcus as his lips descended upon the Roman’s.  Marcus’ hands gripped Esca’s bare waist, pulling him closer until a very solid abdomen pressed tightly against his stiff erection, earning a muffled gasp against Esca’s lips.  The Briton took advantage of his spread lips by spearing his tongue into his lover’s mouth, the caresses earning a deep moan from both as they succumbed to a rhythm that was very familiar.

Marcus felt a hand gliding down the front of his tunic, his hips thrusting upward when his lover’s hand closed in on the fastenings of his trousers.  _Gods_ …he was incredibly aroused.  His thoughts had been an aggravation he was desperate to be rid of, and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Esca and bury his painful memories, if only for a brief time.

Remembering his unusual behavior toward his lover, Marcus broke away from Esca’s lips, instead kissing a trail to the Briton’s ear, whispering, “I wish to apologize for my brutish behavior today, my thoughts have been—”  Marcus moaned, his eyes rolling into his head as Esca finally closed a hand around Marcus’ cock, “—ungh…distracting.”

“Hmm,” Esca closed his lips on the sensitive skin of Marcus’ neck.  He knew something was off with his Roman; knew that so long as he was available to Marcus, he would either figure it out on his own or seek him out for guidance or…a distraction.  It was painful to see his lover out of sorts with himself, but Esca respected the warrior enough to let him deal with it as his pride would allow.  He was a soldier too…he understood.

Marcus sighed, leaning his head back into the chair when Esca pulled away from him, sitting on his haunches as he began to stroke the Roman.  The Centurion bit his lip, realizing that he would have to stop Esca sooner than usual so he could find his release inside his lover.  The painful memories Marcus had faced that day made him want the Briton so much more, he would not last long against Esca’s hand and preferred to—

Marcus eyes flew open, his gaze locked on the roof of their home and his entire body stilling when he felt an unusual heat against his member.  He felt Esca’s hand slide to the base of his cock before his tip was surrounded by the Briton’s very warm, very _wet_ mouth.

It happened all at once.  Marcus’ vision blurred, his mind replaying the memories of a very different mouth encircling his cock, the chill of the nearby ocean biting his skin, the animal smell outside the tent and the clenching of his muscles as he fought the bonds restraining him so he could try to resist.  Marcus gasped, his body stilling as if he had been run through with a sword.  Esca must have thought Marcus reacted out of pleasure; he took his lover’s reaction as an encouragement and took his member further into his mouth.

Marcus choked, a sob creeping up his throat.  His hands fisted on the arms of the chair as he tried to prevent his body from bucking his lover off, “Please…no…”

He felt Esca still suddenly before removing his mouth from the Roman’s cock, his head lifting to meet the pained expression of his lover with one of his own.

“Marcus?  Please, what is it?”

Marcus could not tear his gaze from Esca’s pleading one; it was probably the only time Esca had ever outright asked him what was wrong, and he couldn’t blame him.  Marcus had never protested their intimacies before, and it was not normal for him to do so when he evidently desired the Briton.

Yet Marcus could never bring himself to let Esca do…that.  There was very little the two men had not done together as lovers, but Marcus had always managed to avoid Esca sucking him without much protest from the other man.  Marcus was willing and often eager to do the same for Esca, and he loved how much the Briton would moan and writhe beneath him while he lavished his attentions to the man’s member.  But why would Esca try to do the same for him all of a sudden?

“Marcus?”

The Roman shook his head, the agony and _fear_ in his eyes gripping Esca’s heart painfully.  It had always been a wonder to Esca why the Roman never preferred to be sucked off by him—Esca _loved_ it and was ashamed of how selfish he could be when it came to the act.  The Roman was an amazing lover and always attentive in their intimacies.  Esca had noticed his lover’s mood that day and wanted to show him the same appreciation that was given to him time and time again.

“I—I cannot…Esca…I do not want…that…I cannot,” Marcus suddenly looked angry, the shake of his head more resolute.

_Oh._   Esca’s lips pressed together into a thin line.  He suddenly knew what Marcus was so upset about, and the clarity of the entire situation stung the Briton’s heart.  Romans and Britons loved very differently, according to the many discussions Esca and Marcus had shared about what they liked in the bedroom, but there was an act that Esca _knew_ was shameful and dishonorable, no matter what color flag a man flew.  It was something men did not discuss because men did not do it.  Savages did it; criminals did it.  The dishonor and shame of receiving unwanted pleasure, of having another take advantage of a man’s right to control his own body was the worst shame.  It was agonizing, yet common for women to have such shame and dishonor placed upon them; yet it was a burden they knew was always a possibility because of their weaker bodies.  Men were meant to protect women from such shame; if they could not, both preferred death.

Esca could see the evidence plain as day.  Marcus was trembling, his eyes sealed shut and his fists clenched on his thighs as he sat under the Briton’s scrutiny.  Marcus did not _want_ a savage touching him in such a way; it made little sense to Esca, but he realized that Marcus may have been _charitable_ when Esca had been the one fucking him.

“My apologies, _master_ ,” Marcus’ eyes flew open, the title poisoned and shooting him through the heart like an arrow.  His eyes widened as he took in Esca’s tense frame, the anger and hurt in his face, “I did not realize how… _distasteful_ my attentions were to you.”

Marcus’ face scrunched in confusion, his mouth forming a _‘What!?’_ before he shook his head, stammering over his own words to try and reassure the Briton, “Esca, please, you misunderstand—”

Esca stood, backing away from where the Centurion sat, squirming in his seat as he tried to stand on his own.  “No, I understand perfectly,” the Briton’s harsh, guttural accent beginning to manifest heavily with his anger, “and I wonder why you would let a savage near you _in the first place_ if my touch is such a blight to your damned perfect Roman honor!”

The chair Marcus had occupied went flying backward as he lurched to his feet, his body taut and practically _thrumming_ with pent up anger.  He leveled an angry, _hateful_ glare at the Briton, who met his gaze impassively, the hurt becoming more evident in his features.

Marcus was beyond rational thought as he roared, “It is because of _you_ that my honor has been blighted at all, _master!_ ”

Esca’s eyes went wide at the term, his mind becoming situated with the period in their time knowing one another when Esca _had_ been called ‘master.’  Before he could open his mouth to question him, Marcus fled; his heavy footfalls faded away from him as he yanked open the front door, slamming it behind him as he disappeared into the black shadows of night.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Four hours in the freezing, bitter cold of night had done absolutely nothing to alleviate Marcus’ grief.  Two of those hours had been spent walking, an outrageously stupid idea that Marcus regretted with every movement of his still-sore leg.  He had retained enough foresight when he had stormed out of the house to grab his pack and spear, but realized too late that he had placed himself in a situation where he was completely _useless_.

_So much for only wanting to clear my head_.  Now Marcus was over two hours away from home, freezing cold, and without a means to take care of himself.  He had found a copse of trees in a large, open field, and was sitting beneath one in hopes to ward off the cold, angry wind that had been tormenting him while he walked.  He had managed, after nearly an hour of struggling with a leg that would not cooperate, to collect enough dry wood to start a small fire, but the flames did little to warm his body.

Let alone mend his wounded heart.

Marcus closed his eyes, his grip tightening on his spear as his frustrations began to overwhelm him.  It had been both abhorrently stupid and necessary for him to stop Esca from sucking him.  The painful memories associated with that act…he wished he could have simply slid them to a dark corner in his mind and allowed his lover to pleasure him.  But the doubt…the lingering uncertainty that _Esca_ had been the source for his greatest shame…

The Centurion sighed, hating everything about his situation, yet unable to do a damn thing about it.  His leg would likely fall off if he dared attempt the long trek home.  He was exhausted, cold and…lonely.  His endeavor to be away from Esca to clear his mind had backfired on him, and he found himself wishing for nothing more than to have the Briton there with him, holding him and making his painful memories subside.

Marcus was ashamed of himself.  He had accused Esca of being the one to defile his honor when the man had not been the one to violate him; had nothing to do with it so far as he knew.  His friend, the man he loved, did not deserve to be treated that way.  Esca was a balm to his weary soul, he had _always_ treated Marcus with more respect than he felt he deserved and loved him unconditionally.  And in one moment Marcus had thrown Esca’s love back in his face, had walked away from him, without cause or explanation.

Marcus sighed, he wanted to believe, wanted to _know_ that Esca was not responsible for what that disgusting prince had done to him.  Esca had, on more than one occasion, bared his soul to the Roman, laid everything open for him to see: his hardships during battle, what he had endured as a slave, his mistakes, faults and shameful memories.  Marcus had not been willing to do the same, had not trusted Esca with his most vulnerable self, and he felt he had betrayed his friend’s love.

Glancing at his black surroundings, Marcus pursed his lips, angry with himself that because of his ignorance and brash behavior, he would have to spend the night on the cold Earth rather than in the arms of his lover in their warm bed.  He felt stupid and wished beyond all— 

Marcus started when a crack sounded from his left, his spear already poised to throw before his head had even turned in the direction of the noise.  It was dark, but his eyes were focused, searching for any movement, any sign of attack.  The noise had sounded distant, and it would take the intruder, whoever or whatever it was, a moment to be upon him.

Marcus tried to stand, using his spear as a staff to support his weight as he tried to right himself on one leg.  The Roman cursed; his left leg was completely useless.  In the time it was taking him to just simply _stand_ someone could have run him through with a sword or shot him with an arrow. 

He managed to become upright, all his weight being supported by his right leg, when exhaustion made his body suddenly sag, his weight pitching forward.  His hands scrabbled for purchase on the trunk of the tree next to him, his other arm holding the spear away from his body lest he run himself through on accident.

Marcus fell to the ground on his good knee, a stifled groan slipping through his clenched teeth.  His body was trembling, his breathing labored, and his arms weak; the weight of the spear in his hand seeming so much greater than before.

_I am going to die…_ it was the most terrifying thought of his life; that his own ignorance and stupidity had landed him in a situation he could not get out of.  He was a Centurion, he _knew_ better, and yet he would not be able to defend himself against whatever had snuck up on him.  Marcus closed his eyes, a single tear falling from his cheek.  _Forgive me, Esca, for ever having doubted you._

He heard the grass rustle in front of him, his eyes snapping open, his body tensing, waiting for an attack.  The Centurion gripped his spear, his breath becoming steady.  _A Roman would rather die standing than on his knees…_ he would make sure that if his death was to come to him while he kneeled a broken, incapacitated man, someone was going to die with him.

“Marcus.”

He exhaled sharply, his body sagging in relief when Esca stepped into the clearing, the meager fire illuminating the relief on the Briton’s face.  Marcus dropped his spear as he lurched forward, collapsing to the ground, barely able to support himself on his hands and knee.

Esca ran over, sliding on his knees to the Roman and grabbing him up to his body.  Their arms fumbled to get around one another as they held each other close, both trembling with relief.

“You are the _stupidest_ Roman ever!”  The anger in Esca’s voice was palpable, but the gratitude and relief was felt in his arms as Marcus buried his face in the Briton’s shoulder, inhaling deeply his lover’s musky scent.  The Roman could only nod in agreement; yes, he _was_ the stupidest Roman ever.

Marcus’ one knee was shaking severely with the effort of holding his weight and that of Esca’s.  He groaned as his good knee buckled beneath him, his body turning and collapsing with his back to the ground; his arms tightened, taking the Briton with him so he lay across the Roman’s chest.  Marcus clutched his body closer, never wanting to know what it felt like to be without him again.

“Forgive me, please…please forgive me—”

“I would not be here if I had not already done so,” Esca whispered in his ear, the proximity of his lips to Marcus’ ears warming him more than his little fire ever could.

Marcus pulled his arms away from the man above him, bracing himself to sit upright; Esca quickly moved away, helping him move so his back was against the tree again.  Marcus grabbed Esca’s face and slammed their lips together, his need to be close to the Briton nearly overwhelming him.  Esca moved to be closer to him, straddling the Roman’s lap and gripping his tunic as he felt how desperately the Roman missed him in that single kiss.  Teeth, tongues and lips clashed together, hands skimming over their bodies in a desperate attempt to eliminate the space between them.

Marcus arched his hips, grinding his erection into Esca’s.  The Briton broke away from the kiss, gasping for air and pushing their hips together in a rhythm they both knew well.  Both hissed, the pleasure between them becoming palpable in the air when their cocks met through their trousers with every grind.

It would have been easy, _so_ easy to just let what they both knew was going to happen take its course.  Marcus could barely manage a coherent thought, so overwhelmed was he by his lust for the man in his lap.  But he could not forget what had brought him into the wilderness in the first place; and before he gave his body to Esca, he wanted him to know that he had his trust.

It took a great amount of strength to place his hands on Esca’s waist, stopping the way his body gyrated deliciously over him.  Their eyes met, the Briton recognized the pained expression on his lover’s face and began to feel the threads of doubt weaving through his mind again.

Marcus saw that doubt, too, and wanted to reassure Esca of where his problems really were, “I—I need to explain myself…I have not been…entirely fair to you.”

Esca jerked his chin up, his gaze defiant, “Before you say anything, I need to know…am I still the Savage you thought me before?”  Marcus admired the strength in which Esca asked him that; as if he did not care if he _was_ a savage to Marcus or not, so long as he could love him just the same.  Marcus shook his head.

“No, no you are not.  However, sitting astride me as you are,” his thrust his hips into Esca’s again to insinuate his point, watching with satisfaction as the man’s eyes crossed and a guttural moan lurched from his lips, “you certainly behave as one.”

Esca pegged him with a look that left him feeling as if he were already naked, his cock jumping in his trousers excitedly as the idea of how much of a savage Esca wanted to be at that very moment.  But before the Briton could tease him further, Marcus swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in his throat, his grip tightening on his lover’s hips.

“I need to tell you what happened when we were in the Seal Tribe.  I—” it was difficult to talk beyond that lump, especially when Esca’s brow scrunched together, concerned. 

Esca cupped his cheek, his thumb tracing the skin under his eye, “Please, go on.”

Marcus sighed, nervous, ashamed, and embarrassed.  He had already decided the moment he saw Esca walk into the clearing that he would forgive him if he had known what the Prince had done; that his love was real enough that he would not want Marcus to be hurt any longer.

“The night after you threatened to kill me, when the prince had accused me of looking at his sister, he came to the hut where I slept—”

Marcus faltered when he felt Esca freeze on top of him, his eyes widening and his grip on Marcus’ tunic becoming tighter.  It was painful, and it was difficult, but Marcus clenched his hands on Esca’s hips and continued on.

“—He had me stripped and bound.  I—I could barely move my chest to breathe.  It was impossible for me to fight back, but I wanted to.  Every time he struck me, I kept fighting.  But…then he…he _sucked_ me,” Marcus’ voice had fallen to a whisper; it was impossible for him to speak aloud that which shamed him so, he didn’t even want to gods to hear him admit his failings.

Esca had gone still, his eyes wide and his hands trembling.  That monster, that… _savage_ , had done the most disgusting, dishonorable thing a man could do to another man.  The Briton wanted to vomit, but he tried to keep himself together for Marcus; he understood now, why Marcus would hesitate to let someone suck him.

Esca parted his lips to speak, to reassure Marcus, apologize to him…anything, but Marcus stopped him with a sharp inhalation.

“T-there’s more,” Marcus was pale, unbelievably pale and trembling beneath him.

_More? What else could there—_

“I…I got off.  I came…from him.”

Esca felt his lungs deflate as if he had been struck, the shock so immense he could barely remember to gasp for air.  Marcus… _his_ Marcus, subjected to something so vile, so… _disgusting!_   He suddenly felt overwhelmed with so many emotions; some he could not understand, everything swirling round and round in his mind until he thought he would explode.  He felt helpless; all he wanted was to comfort Marcus, right the wrongs done against him.  It pained Esca to think that Marcus had carried such shame, such a heavy burden, _alone_ for over a year.

He wanted to kill that gutless, shit-riddled, bastard of a prince.

The Briton suddenly felt as if he had too much energy within him, his body trembling, and the rage within his heart so pure and overwhelming that he feared the rest of his life would be spent seeking a bloodlust he could never slake.

In a flurry of motion Esca clambered off the Roman, stalking away from him, pacing, jittering.  Marcus swallowed, nervous; was Esca disgusted that he had touched him after what the prince had done to him?  He suddenly felt guilty, like he had inadvertently defiled Esca with his secrets.  Another tear pooled in his eye, his head moving in time with Esca’s paces, the Briton constantly moving, moving, shaking, clenching.

Esca threw back his head, howling his rage to the night sky while unseen behind him, Marcus flinched at the sudden noise.  The Briton wished so badly to kill the prince again, his only gratification was knowing that he had died at the hands of the one whom he had meant to defile.

A choked whisper behind him gave him pause, his body stiffening again, “I’m sorry, my friend.  Esca…Esca I’m so sorry!”

He was at Marcus’ side in an instant, clutching his hands, trying to figure out how a man with more pride and strength than a thousand legions of Roman soldiers could look so damn _broken_.

“Do _not_ apologize to me for what that…that… _savage_ did to you,” but Marcus was shaking his head again.

“I-I thought you knew.  I thought you had _known_ when…”

_Oh…_

Esca fell back to his haunches, the clarity in his mind exhausting his body.  His hand clutched at his face as the entire evening suddenly became so clear.  Marcus had wondered, had doubted, for so long whether Esca had betrayed him, and yet loved him enough that he wanted to bear that doubt and uncertainty on his own.  He marveled at the Roman’s incredible strength of character; to live with…to _love_ someone and yet have a shadow of doubt in the back of his mind that Esca may have been solely responsible for the horror that befell him.  No wonder he thought Esca had ruined his honor.

“Had I known,” he whispered, pain and anger lacing his words as he lifted his head to level his gaze with Marcus, “you and I may not have left that camp alive.”

Marcus glanced at the ground, his lip disappearing between his teeth, “I did not _want_ to live after that…until you came to me, showed me that your loyalty had never wavered.  I live day by day now for _you_.”

They gazed at one another for a long while, allowing the tension that surrounded them to subside.  It was over; for Marcus, he knew he could overcome such a shameful moment in his past now that he had Esca to help him bear the weight.  He was a Roman; his strength did not end with his physical body; he could endure what his mind and heart had suffered.  He was just happier to endure it with his lover by his side, all threads of doubt severed between them.

They came together in a collective sigh, embracing one another as best they could sitting side by side on the ground.  Embracing his lover, Esca could not help but wonder if Marcus was still in need of _repair_ ; so that his memories of such an intimate act would no longer be tainted.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_ ,” the Briton whispered against his cheek.  Marcus smiled, recognizing the guttural, foreign words his lover purred to him.  Such words had rarely been said to one another, mostly quiet whispers in the dark as they drifted off to sleep.  Those words had never been said to Marcus from his lover in Latin, always his native Gaelic.  Marcus hugged Esca closer to him, remembering why the Briton did not want to say those words in Latin.

_You love me as a Briton and I you, as a Roman.  My people took such emotions seriously, and I would like to give you that love as I am, the way you accept me._

“ _Ego te amo magis_ ,” Marcus whispered back in his native Latin, smiling when a soft chuckle shook his friend in his arms.

“I would like to,” Esca paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, having reverted back to Latin for Marcus’ sake, “ _mend_ your painful memories for you, if you will have me do so.”

Marcus’ eyes widened, his body stiffening as his mind was once more assaulted with painful memories.  He wanted to say no, it was his first, instinctual reaction.  Yet, had his problems not been set right with Esca?  His lover was not to blame for the shameful act done to him; and that monster was dead and rotting in the Highlands.  Why _not_ let Esca help him create new memories?

Esca tried to hide his wince as he watched the conflict passing through Marcus’ eyes.  He reminded himself to be patient with his Roman; such memories needed time to heal and he could not expect Marcus to welcome such an act so early after exposing his past to him.  Esca suddenly felt guilty, he should not have suggested to do—

Marcus gripped the front of Esca’s tunic, dragging him against his body and claiming the Briton’s lips with his own.  Esca parted his lips, allowing his Centurion access to stroke their tongues together.  The Briton’s eyes widened when Marcus grabbed one of his hands, placing it against the stiffness of his erection through is trousers, the _heat_ coming off his lover’s member making his own cock begin to stiffen.

Marcus broke away from Esca, their eyes meeting, “Please, I…I want you to…please…”

Esca gently pressed his lips to the Roman’s, silencing him.  He _would_ mend his Roman; never again did he want to hear such pain, such uncertainty, come from a man whose entire existence had been defined by honor and strength.  Esca swore to himself that after this night, Marcus would never be damaged again.

It was in that spirit Esca found the strength to pull away from Marcus’ delicious lips and begin his journey down the Roman’s body, allowing his lips the freedom to guide him.  Marcus’ tunic was quickly removed while the hard, corded planes of his chest made the Briton’s mouth water.  He was certain his attraction for the Roman was palpable in the air between them—it was no secret to Marcus that parading around their home shirtless was nearly a guaranteed method to disarm Esca when he was angry—it _was_ difficult to be angry when the object of your desire practically pranced like a steed in all his glory right before your eyes.

Marcus moaned aloud when Esca finally shook himself from his stupor and began to attack the sensitive skin of his neck with soft lips.  He wasted no time; they were beyond considerations and foreplay at this juncture.  Esca had waited patiently for too long to taste what he so desired.  He burned a trail down Marcus’ body, licking and nipping with his teeth and leaving tracks of red marks in his wake.

The ties of Marcus’ trousers were straining against the bulk of his erection.  Esca freed his member from the trousers, shuddering when he smelled the musky scent of Marcus’ arousal.  He loved bringing Marcus pleasure, he loved that he could show him the same pleasure that Esca had known since they had come together after they fought side by side in battle.

Esca dipped his head tentatively, not wanting to startle the Roman, and darted his tongue across his slit, tasting the clear pearl of fluid that beaded there. 

Marcus’ reaction was immediate, his hips arching toward Esca’s face, his hands going through the Briton’s hair, a guttural moan slipping past his lips.  Encouraged, the Briton swirled his tongue around the head while descending lower, swallowing Marcus’ length into his mouth. 

The Roman hissed when his cock was surrounded by an intense, wet heat that felt _so_ incredibly wonderful.  His reservations about the act were quickly diminishing…his experience in captivity with the Seal Tribe was _nothing_ like was Esca was doing to him and he could not begin to care whether it was normal or not for him to be over the entire situation so quickly—he did not care, so long as Esca did not stop what he was doing with his tongue.

_I_ am _a stupid Roman for ever having denied myself this…_

Marcus moaned loudly when Esca’s fingers found his neglected sacs, his grip tightening on his scalp as he began to arch his hips in a fast rhythm into Esca’s mouth, encouraging the Briton to take him in deeper.

“Ungh, Esca, please… _tuilleadh_.”

Esca flinched, his eyes widening as he paused in his ministrations on Marcus’ cock for the briefest moment as he recovered from the jolt of pleasure shooting to his cock.  He _loved_ when Marcus’ spoke to him in _his_ native tongue, abandoning his Latin to purr to Esca in Gaelic.  Esca was convinced that he would forever be obsessed with hearing Marcus _beg_ him in his own language.  He made a mental note to teach Marcus a few choice phrases in Gaelic that were reserved for the bedroom.

Spurred on by the heady and arousing sounds Marcus kept making, Esca increased his pace on the Roman’s cock, bobbing his head in time with Marcus’ thrusting hips.  The Centurion’s moans suddenly morphed into shouts of pleasure, his hips bucking frantically as he thrust his cock into Esca’s mouth.

Marcus came with a roar, the quiet of the night surrounding them disturbed by the shouts of his release.  He hissed when Esca continued to suck him dry, the sensitive flesh of his cock overwhelming his senses and causing him to writhe and buck beneath the Briton.  He flopped against the tree, breathless, when Esca finally released him with a wet sound, the Briton crawling across the prone man to capture his lips with his own, allowing the Centurion to taste himself for the first time.

The Roman knew he would—likely—not orgasm again that night due to the incredible… _quality_ …of his release.  Yet it was important, no… _necessary_ that he see Esca take his pleasure _in_ him.  Marcus had not been false when he told Esca that he now lived his every day _for_ the Briton—his happiness was his purpose, his calling in this life.  He would see Esca writhing in the same pleasure he had shown him.

Marcus broke away from him, his hand grazing the tent in the Briton’s trousers from his straining erection, “Esca, I…I want you…I _need_ you to take your pleasure in me.  I need to hear your voice—”

Esca cut him off with his lips, understanding what the Roman wanted and more than willing to give him what he wanted.  Quickly unfastening the ties of his trousers, he released his cock into the cool night air, fisting himself with a shudder in anticipation of what was about to occur…what he had wanted so badly since earlier that day.

“Let me…ungh, please…” Marcus grabbed Esca’s hips, dragging him forward until the Briton was straddling his chest, his cock sliding easily into the Roman’s eager mouth.  Esca’s eyes rolled back into his skull, a violent shudder racking his body as Marcus moistened his cock.  The Roman had the amazing ability to take all of the Briton into his mouth, his tongue darting out to tentatively lick the skin of his sacs, causing him to cry out, his hands fisting in the bark of the tree above Marcus head.  It was amongst the most erotic things they had ever done together—Esca kneeling in front of Marcus’ face and penetrating his mouth as if they were making love.  It was nearly agonizing how pleasurable the act was for him.

If Marcus continued as he was, Esca would not last much longer.  Gently removing his cock from the other man’s mouth, Esca  moved down the Roman’s body, wrapping the other man’s legs around his waist and centering himself against Marcus’ entrance, pushing slowly into the Roman, watching with a smirk as he began to squirm and moan against the intrusion.

When Esca was seated inside of Marcus to the hilt, the Roman wasted no time in grabbing his waist in his large hands, bucking against him and starting a fast pace that made Esca shudder in ecstasy.  He knew he would not last long; his emotions and his desires had been through hell from the moment Marcus ran from him hours ago.  Seeing his Roman naked beneath him, writhing and moaning as he penetrated him with his cock…it was too much for him to take.

Hissing when he felt the familiar tingle of his release moving from the base of his spine, Esca threw his head back and howled his pleasure behind Marcus’, shooting his release into the man beneath him and shuddering with the throes of his orgasm.

The Briton collapsed onto the larger man, careful to avoid jostling his injured leg, and relished in the feeling of Marcus’s warm embrace.  They were silent for several moments, listening to the sounds of their breathing beginning to slow, the many insects chirping and buzzing in the night, disturbed by their loud activities.

Esca blinked several times, fighting exhaustion and yawned wide before muttering, “Please do not leave me again.  I would rather face your wrath a thousand times over than search for you in the night, hoping I find you alive.”

Marcus hugged Esca closer to him, blinking away tears when the Briton’s arms wrapped around him and squeezed him back, “You will never know my wrath again, my friend, if I have a say in it.  And I promise…I will never leave you.”

The two agreed to sleep where they were until morning, when their energy would be suitable for traveling back to their house.  Esca snored lightly on top of Marcus, the man’s slight weight an easy burden for the Roman to bear in light of all that had occurred.  Marcus was so happy to see his lover, and he would gladly sleep with a boulder on his chest if it meant he would not go a single night without Esca sleeping nearby.  As his eyes slid shut to the sound of his lover’s breathing, his mind was invaded with images, not of Seal Tribe Princes, or shackles and whippings, but of Esca and him from just moments prior, the two sweating and writing against one another, and he smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep, looking forward to a repeat occasion with his lover.

Perhaps Esca would need assistance waking in the morning.

 


End file.
